“Play?”
“No, not any more. I used to, a little. But I gave it up.”
“Oh, my! What a pity! I think it's perfectly elegant for a gentleman to play, don't you? But so few of them do. I think it's simply awful.”
“I suppose you play, of course?”
“Oh, I should say so. Yes, indeed. Music's my forte. I teach, too. Give lessons in Dr. Meyer's conservatory, and take private pupils.”
“Won't you play for us a little to-night, then?”
“Oh, gracious, no. It's too hot. Ah'm about melted, as it is. Ain't you?”
“Well, it is pretty warm,” Elias confessed, in & reflective tone.
At this juncture, the white-capped maid-servant began to circulate among the people, bearing a large tray, upon which reposed a pitcher, a couple of slim bottles, and half a score of cut-glass tumblers.
“Beer or wine, Mr. Bacharach?” cried Mr. Koch, from above. “Take your choice, and help yourself. They're both gratis.”